The Darkest Shadow
by Stephen R Sobotka
Summary: Set between Timothy Zahn's "The Hand of Thrawn" and "Survivor's Quest" stories; a Smuggler crosses paths with a Jedi Master. OC/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**STAR WARS - THE DARKEST SHADOW**  
><strong>written by Stephen R. Sobotka  2000-2012**

_**DISCLAIMER** : This story is an original prose based on situations, settings, places and themes from the Universe of "**Star Wars**", by LucasArts Entertainment Ltd. All characters that appear within - with the exception of all original characters created by the author - are the property of said licenses, and are used here without knowledge or permission of same._

_This story is the rightful property of the author; all original characters and the plot depicted within are protected by copyright law. This story was produced to entertain fans of the original game, and is in no way, shape or form intended to be published for monetary gain. Please do not sue._

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE** : I wrote this as a gift for a dear friend of mine, who told me once if she was ever to be a character in a Star Wars story, she'd be a smuggler._

_This one's for you, Shinga. Enjoy! - **SRS**  
><em>

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"A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away..."

# # #

THE DARKEST SHADOW

_It is a time of Galactic change..._

_Due to the actions of the freedom-fighters that forged the unexpected Treaty between the remnants of the __**Imperial Empire**__ and the struggling members of __**New Republic**__, a major shift has occurred among the worlds which had long been under the rule of former Imperial Masters._

_As the forces of New Republic move to firm up the holdings of the far-flung star systems of the __**Outer-Rim**__, several of the smaller systems are trying to maintain their once-Imperial backed power by establishing Martial Law. Because of this, several liberties are being taken against the Citizens of the New Republic; even those that are considered to be outlaw._

_One such system is __**ERIADU**__. Here, where even association with criminals is considered a high crime, events are about to come in motion that will form an unlikely alliance..._

# # #

Chapter One

Using one webbed, pink, thick-skinned hand to slap a layer of reddish-dust from the pock-marked surface of his chest plate, the fish-faced Dock Master glowered at the mass of humans, humanoids and other alien sundry - all passengers off of the recently-arrived, rust-covered AA-9 transport freighter that was resting on the platform before him.

At the head of the pack, a human dressed in somber robes of maroon and umber fabric paused to address the Dock Master; holding a leather packet tightly to his chest like a life preserver. "Where do we-?"

The Dock Master coughed against the dusty air, drowning the man out, before he snarled. "Just keep yerself moving, ya gonk-faced skinnie!" Motioning with that same hand, he rumbled something in Huttese before saying clearly in Common, "Move along! Processing for entry to Capital City!"

Standing next to a wide, arching entryway across from the gangway, another Dock Master - this one a thick-necked brute of a Malastarian - motioned with one large, scarred hand. "Processing for entry, straight ahead! Keep the line movin'!"

The man gave him a meek look, before he followed the rest of the mass of passengers milling through the archway. Under the roof of the Number-6 Port Authority Processing Center, the air was thick with the stench of old fuel, overheated lubricant and smog, making many of the passengers draw a variety of cloaks and hoods to protect their faces. The crowd did their best to comply with further directions; forming six, tightly-packed lines before three admission kiosks, which were manned by a pair of utilitarian droids and their processing terminals.

One of the droids spoke in a harsh, rasping tone, pitching their voice over the mutterings of the incoming beings: "Have all documentation and identity cards avalible. Approach the nearest P.A. Agent when you are called to do so!"

The line of passengers shifted forwards, the hum of voices filtering over the sounds of the port city that leaked in from all around as they filed through the entryway. Many were refuse from any number of far-flung systems; trying to get away from the battles that had enveloped the core systems... a few were actually there to conduct business on Eriadu, eager to get through the process of declaring before the local officers their intents - at least, their known intents - and moving ahead to matters at hand.

As the last of the passengers moved down the ramp, a short, feminine figure, clad in a dark, weather-beaten cloak tried to keep from being squashed between the hulking bodies of two Gamoreans as they bullied their way down to the end of the ramp. This woman reached the edge of the moving mass of passengers that were stalled at the entrance, before taking a moment to slip around a stack of crates and melt into the shadows cast behind them. There, she paused briefly, watching as a few officers of the local Constabulary were filing in between the rows of passengers.

The Dock Master's voice barked over the crowd. "Keep moving! Have your papers ready for verification!"

With a rustle of cloth, Mirik Besel slipped deeper into the shadows, heading towards a point underneath a low, metal shutter on the far side of the processing house with practiced stealth. Crouching, making small clouds of red dust billow under the soles of her worn-leather boots, Mirik looked cautiously over her shoulder towards the sounds of the disembarkation processors. When no one raised an alarm or moved towards her, she slipped a long, cylindrical object from a pocket on the leather vest she wore beneath her cloak. Turning back to examine the shutter, she quickly found a small control panel at its lowermost corner, blinking dimly in the shadows.

Prying it open, she started fiddling with the circuits inside, when-!

"Hey, you!"

Ducking slightly at the harshness of the processor's voice, Mirik whipped her head around. Teal-hued eyes peered out from her hood; spying the Constable Officer take hold of some wretch in the middle of the crowd.

"Bring that case over! We need to search it for contraband!"

Letting out her breath in a slow exhale, the slim human woman paused to brush a slight drop of sweat from her nose before continuing to briskly tinker with the panel. Coughing softly against the dry air flowing in through the gaps in the metal slats of the shutter, Mirik leaned back sharply when the shutter released with a muted clang to expose a small gap. Thrusting out one hand to prop the shutter open, she stopped to glance about once more, before slowly pushing it up and inwards. When the gap appeared to be large enough, Mirik slipped through and let the shutter close behind her with only a soft thud to announce her departure.

Outside, she paused to get her bearings: finding herself in a low alleyway next to the processing house. Glancing upwards, she could see a wide vista of sand and sun-scorched rooftops, tall buildings of rock and lone, metal spires that were either transmitters or were there for other technical uses.

Taking a moment to lower the hood of her cloak, the young woman reached up to brush the thin film of sweat and some stray locks of hair from her forehead. Her teal eyes blinked in the glare from Eriadu's single sun, which reflected off the red in her hair. She replaced the lock-tool in her vest pocket and sighed softly.

"Well, just take a good look now, Mirik... you're not staying long enough to ask for a guided tour!" she muttered, letting her hand drop down, coming to rest on the butt of a blaster pistol at her hip. "Considering how they feel about my type, I'd rather not, actually." She knew the dire straights she was in, and not because she'd just slipped past the Port Authority without letting herself be recorded with the rest of the newly-arrived travelers.

Mirik was a smuggler. A pirate, if one had to nitpick titles. Still, the local government on Eriadu didn't split hairs when it came right down to it. Smuggler, blockade runner, pirate... all were considered outlaws, and right now, the local Governor had placed a high bounty on any such being foolish enough to be found on Eriadian soil or traveling through her space ways.

Rising slowly while brushing dust off of the knees of her spacer's pants, Mirik glanced around to see if the processing house had any external security systems focused in her general locus. When she saw none in evidence, she moved slowly away from the side of the building. Walking towards the mouth of the alleyway, Mirik got within a few steps of the entrance and stopped in the lee of a tall, discarded crate. In the street beyond, several small clusters of bodies were walking by; all recently 'arrived' passengers from the very same ship she'd landed with, just now released from processing.

Sighing in hindsight, she shook her head. "I'd have an easier time of this, if I would've bargained with the captain of the clap-trap transport!" Propriety - and her own sense of self-preservation - demanded that she decline the rather disgusting levels the son-of-a-gundark's 'price' was capable of reaching. Shaking her head, Mirik snarled under her breath. "Enough blathering about the might-have-beens! I've got to get out of this backwater hole!" Raising her hood once more, she took a breath and slipped out as a small cluster trundled past, melting into the crowd as she matched their quickening pace.

Unaware, that on the rooftop above her, a small, spheroid-shaped sentry droid had been observing her silent exodus from the alleyway the entire time...

# # #

The _tin-tan_ sound of the book shop's door chime sang out through the musty air; fading away amid the heavy hiss of the bookshop's door opening. Slipping inside, a tall figure wrapped in long, brown robes moved away from the door to stand inside a clear, nearly-square space just beyond the entrance. The stranger paused, his eyes taking in the sheer volume of books and records stuffed into this tiny space. All around the small shop's interior, every other possible centimeter of space was occupied by stacks of books, some large shelves - equally loaded - that stretched from floor to ceiling, as well as boxes and other containers overflowing with similar relics.

Clearing his throat, he called out in a mellow baritone; "Pardon me... is there anyone about?"

At once, the whirring sound of rapid wing beats filled the air, as the shop's owner rose up from behind a stack of old print books; a wrinkled, goggle-eyed Toydarian, whose mouth quickly spread into a smile as she spied the stranger. "_E tuda noiya_! A-welcome to Madame Zuufy's Shoppe!" she stated, her gravelly-yet-feminine voice carrying across the room to the robed man.

"I am honored to be here, Madame. My name is Bossa Ma'tam." The stranger made a short, polite bow towards the Toydarian, before turning his hooded face once again towards the cluttered shelves lining the shop. "I see you have many, old manuscripts collected here," he said.

Blinking her large, yellow eyes in what could have been a flirtatious gesture, Zuufy grinned as she shifted around the stack, the quick beat of her wings propelling her pudgy body towards the visitor. "Ahhh, thee noticed, eh? A'ma large collector of a-these olde books an' scriptures," Zuufy said, grinning as she came to a rolling hover in front of the stranger. "A'ma the only one with such a shoppe in theesa entire system!" She fixed him with an open, appraising look she usually reserved for sizing up merchandise. "'Praps Thee has come to buy some of-a my books, Aye think?"

"As a matter of fact," the stranger said, his low baritone voice seeming to resonate around the confines of his hood, "I'm seeking any artifacts or scriptures from the Old Republic... particularly, any pertaining to the Order of the Jedi Knights."

Zuufy nodded several times, making her elephantine snout waggle over her two jutting tusks. "Ah, Jedi! Yes... come, Aye show-a Thee what We have, eh?" Turning with a languid motion, she motioned for the visitor to follow her deeper into the shop.

Stepping away from the doorway, the robed man padded silently after the shopkeeper; slipping between the tables - piled high with books and boxes - and around the corners of free-standing shelves. His eyes glittered as he took in the new expanses of old, dusty books and leather-encased scrolls on one shelf. _Such a find as this, would make mother weep to know that such knowledge could be found... even in a old post of the Emperor's former domain!_

"Not a-many peoples come looking for such a-things," Zuufy said airily, dropping under a low ladder as she scanned the rows of books and sundry on the dusty metal shelves beside them. "Een fact, Aye don't always a-reckon much of what Aye keep would belong to one of those a-Jedi." With a chuckle, Zuufy added, "Aye think-ee much of what was once a-belongin' to the Jedi might a-have long since gone to ages, Aye think... Sirah-?"

With an negligible shrug, the man replied, "Bossa, Madame." Shaking his shrouded head, he added "Not all things the Jedi once had existed strictly on books or paper..."

"Oh? What do you seek then, Sirah Bossa?"

Looking at the Toydarian, Bossa held up his hands, making his fingers form a square shape. "What I seek would be very rare... perhaps you might have seen such a thing once? Something, well... small? Like a cube, with intricate markings on the sides?" he asked.

Turning slightly, Zuufy's eyes lit up with understanding. "Ahhh... well, a-yes! Aye might have a-somethin' like that!" Turning back to the shelves, she narrowed her large eyes as she slowly drifted down the row... until she suddenly darted upward towards a higher shelf and started rummaging deep inside a long box perched there. As the robed visitor watched, every other syllable out of her mouth was gutteral Huttese, punctuated by the odd object falling or fluttering down from above.

Eventually, Zuufy floated back down to eye-level, clutching something wrapped in an winding strip of old cloth. "Ahhh... Aye knew it-a would be here!" she said with high satisfaction. Presenting it to the stranger, she added, "Very olde artifact... though, Ay'm not certain of it's a-function."

Taking the object, Bossa unwrapped it with care - almost reverently in his actions - and, with a slow intake of breath, he found himself gazing at a crystalline cube; much as he described it, with its intricate etchings and slight greenish tint showing through the crystal. _Amazing!_ he told himself. In his hand, he held one of the true treasures of the Old Order: a holocron! _The sum of a Jedi's total lifetime of knowledge and wisdom were stored in these ancient crystal devices. Many were lost over the centuries of past time, but... to find one of these intact-!_

"Soooo, that is what Thee is looking for, then?"

Looking for one last moment at the holocron, Bossa tore his eyes away to stare at Zuufy - who had been watching him with keen interest herself. Collecting his thoughts, he asked, "How much may I offer for it, Madame?"

With a gleeful rubbing of her hands, Zuufy eyed him shrewdly before replying, "Let a-me see... hmmmm," she muttered thoughtfully. "Two-hundred thousand, Ay'da say, hmm?"

The stranger nodded after a moment. "I have Imperial Credits, or local coin if you'd prefer?" he offered.

Zuufy rubbed her chin, thinking the offered payment over. "Well, Aye-!" Suddenly, the door chime rang several times in a rude fashion, cutting the Toydarian off. With a scowl, she turned and moved around the side of the shelves. "_Chuda-nai!_ What-a gives here! Hahn! W-what are Thee doin' in-a my shop?"

There was a rustle and clatter, before a gruff voice replied, "City Militia! We're seeking a stranger that entered your shop!"

With a quick movement, Bossa made the cube vanish into the folds of his robes, before he turned and stepped slowly out into view. There, bracketing the Toydarian shopkeeper, stood six men in dark, weather-beaten uniforms of the local law-keeping force; all armed with blasters and stun sticks. One trooper bearing an officer's flash on his sleeve turned quickly, spying Bossa. "You there! Identify yourself, now!" Behind him, his men tensed, hefting their weapons to a ready position.

With a shrug, Bossa removed his hood to reveal a wide, pale face framed with short red-blonde hair, a close-cropped beard and mustache and two piercing blue eyes. "I am Bossa Ma'Tam, Sir. Is there something wrong?"

"Identicard, if you please." The officer took Bossa's identification card, all the while sizing him up as he quickly looked him over, though it was clear from his stance that Bossa was not whom he was expecting to find. "What is your purpose here, Mister Ma'tam?"

"I am a collector. I traveled here from many places inside the Mid- and Outer Rim in search of old artifacts." He arched one eye in expectation, gazing calmly at each trooper in the semi-circle in turn. "Am I under arrest?"

The officer frowned, then shook his head as he returned his identicard. "No, Sir. Sorry to have interrupted your business here," he said, giving Zuufy a black look, as if she was at fault somehow. "We're on the lookout for a criminal."

"A criminal?" Bossa replied.

"Criminal!" the Toydarian squeaked.

"A smuggler," the officer stated, nodding to them both. "She was identified sneaking through customs, and the entire city has been notified to watch for her. When she's found, we're to apprehend her at once."

Bossa nodded. "I see... then, I should not impeed your search."

The officer nodded. "No, you shouldn't..." With that, he turned to his men and motioned towards the door. "Let's go. We have another lead in Seeshamar to check out!" With that, he lead the squad out through the door and left Bossa and Zuufy alone once more.

"How do Thee like a-that?" Zuufy growled towards the retreating backs of the Militia, shaking her head sourly. "Bargin' in a-hear, distruptin' my a-business!" She muttered something in Huttese, floating towards the shop doorway to reset the chime and close the door properly. "Some a-day, these mucky-mucks are a-gonna really make t'ings go down-a-hill 'round this place!"

Bossa watched her rail for a moment more, then he reached into his robes and removed a large cloth pouch. "Madame, I thank you for your time," he said, waiting until Zuufy turned around before he tossed the pouch into her hands. "This should be more than enough for the item. May the Force be with you." With a small bow, he strode past her, out into the street outside of the shop.

Surprised, Zuufy watched him go, before she looked down at the pouch in wonder. Inside was a substantial sum of local credit chips, well more than double the original sum he'd offered.

"Hmmm... strange a-things 'round here lately. Ahhh, _chubaa!_" She muttered, taking the pouch with her as she returned to her sorting.

# # #

The sign over the door read D'HOOB & SON, in Common, Huttese and several other language glyphs.

The door was only entryway to a run-down shop in the middle of Seeshamar; a rag-tag part of the Capital City that was just a smaller part of the outlaying sprawl surrounding the larger 'hub of the star port.

Across the street, Mirik stood in the shadow of an alleyway, gazing at the sigh with a relieved expression on her face. The trek across the city had been a harrowing one; ducking past lone members of the city constabulary; hiding in shadows as clusters of militia in their dark uniforms ambled past... and a couple of tense moments when city security-cam droids had floated by on the thick, smoggy air overhead.

Now, however, she felt she could relax. She'd found the shop... and she still hoped it was still owned by the founding owner, or his son. "It would just be my luck," she muttered to herself as she slipped out of the alley and started walking across the street. "Just hope Ol' Creb is still alive." Stepping to the door, Mirik rapped on it sharply, pausing only for a second before she gripped the entry plate and pushed the door open to step inside.

The jangle of metallic strips sang a discordant chime, heralding her entry into the shop. Letting the door shut behind her, Mirik glanced about and frowned. On shelves and tables were piles of various discombobulated junk and parts; some of which might still be useful. If one were looking for items nearly older than she was by twenty years! The floor lay under a fine layer of grit and sand, and the smell of a thousand types of metals and fluids hung heavy in the air.

At length, Mirik scanned the counter and the back of the shop and called out,"Creb? Creb!"

From somewhere in the back of the shop, behind a closed door, a crusty voice shouted back. "Hold your ailerons! Be right out!"

With a chuckle, Mirik stepped towards a rag-tag counter, littered with more spare parts and nick-knacks. She paused to give a couple of the items on the counter a perfunctory glance, just before the sound of a shuffling side-step against the stone floor made her glance up.

"Mirik? Mirik Besel? Nar... it can't be!" Creb D'Hoob said.

With a half-grin, Mirik exclaimed warmly, "It's about time you dragged your backside out here, Creb... son-of-a-gundark! You look worse than the last time I saw you."

Hobbling towards her, the short, stumpy, ocher skinned humanoid gave Mirik a short, snorting laugh. "Blame that crash off of Salar-Ten... I never did fully recover from that." Brushing a long, braided forelock back from in front of his face, Creb slid his homespun-clad body to a halt in front of the young woman and gripped her outstretched hand in greeting. "Mirik Besel! What brings you to this backwater cess-hole? I thought you were still running a shipping circuit from Malastare?"

With a frown, Mirik replied, "I was. Until the Imperial Remnants shut the trade down with a blockade some months back." Sighing, she added, "I had to resort to... alternates to keep going."

Creb frowned deeply. "Smuggling runs into Imperial-held space?" He fixed her with a hard look. "But, you had to come here, of all the worlds in the Rim!"

"I had to! It was the only way to stay alive," she shot back. "My ship was jumped by two Imperial corvettes!" She sighed heavily. "I lost my shipment and my ship... some civilian transport found my escape pod, and rescued me."

"No one else on board made it with you?" Creb asked pointedly.

Wincing, Mirik admitted, "I... was using a droid crew."

"Droids? Now you _are_ going 'round the far side of an asteroid, girl!"

"I had to, Creb! I had to split the crew to take two other ships, and the only way to keep the _Star of Corella_ flying was to use droids!" Mirik gave a snort as she added darkly, "Which will be the last time I depend on a bunch of tin-cans to fly my ship!"

Shaking his head, Creb looked at Mirik with sympathy. "So, the others are still running the operation, hm?"

"Back to base with payment in hand by now, hopefully." Mirik crossed her arms and sighed once more. "In the end, I know Deke and the rest will keep the operations running, until I can get back to them."

"Ah."

"That's why I came here," Mirik stated, looking at Creb with hope-filled eyes. "I need your help to get me off this Imperial mudball!"

# # #

In the street outside, a cluster of men in the maroon-on-black uniforms of the Militia marched forwards. Shoving the few pedestrians out of their way, they trooped along the dusty street, giving no one a second glance as they passed.

The officer in charge of them - Lieutenant Gullar; a rat-faced man with long teeth and three-days of beard growth on his cheeks - flipped open a holo-com as he marched, his dust-caked boots clicking as they stepped onto the sidewalk. At once, a face belonging to the headman in charge of the Processing Center filled the green-on-white glow of the emitter.

"You are certain it was-?"

"One doesn't get through my center without notice, Sirrah," the headman gurgled. "The droid tracked her as far as this block of Seeshamar, before he lost her! Find her, and there's a cut of a one-thousand _daktari_ reward in it for you... and your men!"

Nodding, Gullar closed the holo-com with a curt click. With a glance to his men, he said, "Weapons out, stun only. There's a possibility she might be seeking aid from someone here. A few former smugglers ply a trade here in this district. We'll search them out first! Move!" He quickened his step, leading them down towards a lone shop ahead.

# # #

Creb grunted, and shook his head. "No, I can't!"

Mirik stared at him for a brief moment, before anger bubbled up from her belly and spilled out through her words: "Are you telling me you won't even help the daughter of an old friend, Creb!"

At that, Creb's red eyes grew wide as ducats. "No, Mirik. I'm saying that I won't get involved in aiding a known pirate...even if she _is_ the daughter of an old friend!"

"You better explain yourself, Mister!"

"I'll let this explain it for me," Creb replied, reaching over and tapped a wrinkled paper filled with Imperial script. "The local constable posted this within the past week, along with all the regular updates on all pirates and smugglers wanted by the Governor!"

Mirik stared at the paper; her eyes stopping when she saw her own name printed there. "Damn it! How in the galaxy did-?"

"Word's been traveling fast lately," Creb explained, "ever since the territorial governor made it clear that he wants all pirate and smuggler activity stopped colder than a Wampa's backside! In fact, most of his staff and a lot of the local enforcers have poured money in to bulk up the rewards posted for bounties!" He sighed gustily. "Eriadu and a lot of the systems around her are no-show zones for all smuggler-types!"

"Then, why are you still here?" Mirik asked.

Creb said pointedly, "I've been a reformed _ex-smuggler_ for six years. I've worked my hardest to prove I've long since given up my former ways as one of the pirates that once raided along the Kalassi Borders."

"Creb!"

"You don't know what it's like here, do you? On the fringes, the governors out here do all they can to lean on people to see things their way!" Creb sighed heavily. "Even to the point of taking away your freedom, limited as it is these days! I can't give that up, not even for you, Mirik."

Mirik gaped at Creb, unable to speak for several seconds. "But... Creb! You have to help me! Didn't my father-?"

"Mirik," Creb muttered. "Mirik, I served under your father for many years. I know I owe much to him... but, even for all his friendship and trust, I cannot help you!" He gave her a look that pleaded for understanding. "I wish I could, but you have to find another way to help yourself."

Mirik felt her jaw tighten, as a sense of despair and betrayal filled her. "I... I see."

With a shake of his head, Creb's expression softened a touch. "If it's any worth... I can tell you of some people, in the north end in the city, who might be able to help-."

A sudden, heavy banging on the door of the shop cut Creb off. With a grunt, Creb shifted towards the door. "What in the... Hoi! Hold your snargles! No need to break my door down!" He started waddling towards the door, waving Mirik to get behind him.

CRASH!

The wood and metal door slammed against the floor, just as four armored militia men burst through; each bringing up a blaster rifle to bear on the crippled shop owner and Mirik. "Freeze! Don't move!" one of the armored men snarled, even as both Creb and Mirik recoiled.

Creb snapped back, "How do you expect me to move! You're crowded into my shop like tin-fish!" He scowled darkly as more militia boiled into the shop. "What's the meaning of-?"

"We're here under Imperial Orders, citizen," came the voice of Lieutenant Gullar, as the officer stepped through the line of his men to stand in front of them. Planting his fists on both hips as he gave both Creb and Mirik a smug look, he stated, "That woman, Mirik Besel, is a wanted smuggler!"

_Oh, galaxies!_ Mirik cursed inwardly, Mirik glancing at Creb, who was glancing at each of the militia men with a dark, foreboding cast to his face. _No, he couldn't have called them! He didn't have time to use a comm-link or anything!_

Gullar gave her a pointed look. "Come now... surrender your weapons and come peacefully," he ordered.

She shot him back with a heated glare. "If I refuse?"

"We will use whatever force necessary to bring you in," the officer replied, a note of confidence on his face as his men tensed their hands around their blasters.

At that, Mirik frowned and leaned in close to Creb. "You still have that weak spot in the wall back there?" she whispered softly, as she dropped one hand to the belt at her waist, as if reaching down to unclip the blaster hanging there.

Creb turned and flashed her a slightly confused frown. "Why are you-?"

"Just shield your eyes!" she hissed.

"Come now! You have to surrender to us!" The officer snapped. "You have no way to avoid being captured!"

Mirik fumbled slightly at her waist, as she said to him with a soft sigh, "Well, since you put it that way..." With that, she shoved Creb to the floor, shielding her eyes with one hand as she whipped her other hand down towards the floor of the shop.

Heeding her warning, Creb reflexively shielded his red eyes with one arm, but neither Gullar or his militia were so lucky. The flash bomb she'd been fingering burst against the stone surface with a BANG!; filling the air with a wave of bright, dazzling light. They recoiled, squinting against the sudden glare in a feeble attempt to prevent themselves from being blinded.

"Blast her!" Gullar shrieked, falling back behind the safety of his men. At his words, the men in front filled the air of the shop with stun bolts, aiming wildly as they couldn't see properly.

Huddled against the floor, Creb started shouting in alarm; "No! Don't! Not my father's shop!"

Mirik - moving before the first shot was fired - ducked behind the counter and squeezed her body through a small gap leading into the rear of the shop. Quickly, she scanned the far side of the crowded back room, searching for the weak wall that she remembered was there from one of her previous visits.

Back behind her, the weapons fire stopped. "Find her! Seal off the street!" Gullar cried.

Mirik scowled inwardly. Without pause, she drew a double-barreled blaster from her waist, flipping the charging unit on as she located the rusted, half sealed panel she'd been looking for.

Suddenly, a militia trooper emerged in the doorway from the front of the shop. "Halt!" he barked, bringing his weapon to bear, only to get shot as Mirik whirled around and fired her blaster first!

"Sorry, must dash!" Turning back, she fired the second charge into the panel, blowing it outwards in a flurry of twisted metal. Before she could move through the opening, the whine of a score of deadly blaster bolts screamed through the air around her.

"Blast it!" Clearly the militia had decided to not bother with stunning her now, as several objects on the walls burst into flame or blew apart under the sudden barrage. Ducking, she snaked her way through the blasted opening and threw herself into the clear, where she found herself in an alley behind the shop; one that ran on the entire length of several streets-worth of buildings!

"Great!" Picking herself up, she ducked as the sounds of more blaster fire poured through the air. Bolting to the side, took to her heels and, looking back over her shoulder, she could see curls of black smoke issuing up from the sides of Creb's shop.

A small part of her wanted to turn back to help Creb.

However, shouts from the other end of the alleyway sang out: "Over here! She's gone out the back!" Soon, the forms of the officer and some of his men appeared at the head of the alley. Several shots rang out, filling the air with the snarl and whine as they shot by her head.

"Sorry, Creb," she muttered, before turning to slip through a bank of mist issuing from a in-ground vent. Friendship and old debts aside, Mirik knew when it was time to slip her cable and make a run for a safer locus. Hoping the mist would make it hard for them to track her, she slipped and ducked around and between several crates stacked in the alleyway as she ran on.

# # #

"She's fast!" a trooper muttered to his fellows, lowering his blaster as their commander appeared at their side.

"Why wasn't this alley covered?" Gullar snarled, his rat-face streaked with dust and soot.

"Sorry, Sir!"

"Go! Get after her!" the officer barked harshly. "We can't let her get away! A good sum of credits is the reward for her capture, and I will not see it slip through my fingers!" Gullar slapped one man on his shoulder, urging him and his fellows onward. "Go! Move it, move it, now!"

The harsh clatter of booted feet followed behind the charging bodies of the militia, echoing up the alleyway as they pursued their quarry.

While from a low rooftop above, a figure cloaked in both robe and shadow watched them pass by, before it moved to leap across the rooftops to chase after the chasers.

# # #

_Why do these things happen to me?_ Mirik ran on, ducking around corners as she followed the maze of back-alleyways through and around the streets of the city.

Several times, the men chasing her got too close and she had to fire her weapon to discourage them from making a grab at her. Panting for breath, she'd hoped they'd give up after several moments of unsuccessful pursuit... but, the officer in charge seemed unrelenting! At nearly every turn, she could hear him goading the militia on to continue the chase, even though they had crossed nearly an entire sector of the city to keep up with her.

_Guess Rat-Man there hasn't earned his pay-stub lately!_ Mirik groused; her sides ached under the stress to pull air into her lungs, and her legs were growing more tired with every turn and twist. Desperate to lose them, Mirik crashed against the corner of a building before slipping into another alleyway. Sprinting along, she suddenly had to drag herself up short, as a tall wall blocked any further progress!

"Blast it!" she cursed, glancing for a door or window that led out of the sudden dead-end... but, she could find none.

Turning, she started towards the mouth of the alleyway, only to throw herself down onto her belly when a blaster bolt flicked past her face. With a yelp, she fired four fast shots back towards the militia man, knocking him aside like a rag doll.

"In there! Fire! Fire!"

Three more armored men appeared, firing back with a fury of crimson blaster bolts.

Forced back, Mirik dived behind a heavy, metal garbage container; its thick metal skin serving as a shield from their attack. With a scowl, she caught her rapid breath and pulled herself further in behind her temporary shelter... only to discover that in their eagerness to hit her, the militia had managed to blast away several pieces of the container! They were quickly whittling her protective cover down by chunks in seconds!

With a word in harsh Huttese, Mirik took stock in her situation; pinned at the end of the alleyway, with the walls were too high to climb, and the scant scattering of old crates and rusting fuel barrels would be naught for cover against the militia's blasters once the garbage container was gone!

Abruptly, the firing stopped, as the sound of boots clattering and armor clanking filtered in from the head of the alley.

Daring to peek out, Mirik glanced around the corner of the nearly shot-through container. The militia formed a living barricade at the head of the alley; too many to take out with just one blaster pistol alone.

"We've got you now!" Gullar barked from behind his men, his voice echoing off the narrow space between the buildings. "Throw down your weapon and surrender!"

Grimacing, Mirik swore something in Huttese under her breath, then called out, "Why not come get me, you overbearing, worm-ridden nerf-herder?"

"You've no place to run to, pirate!" the rat-faced officer shot back smugly. "Surrender, and it will go easier for you in front of the magistrate!" With a guarded whisper to the front rank, he nudged them towards her, before he added aloud, "After all, you're worth more alive to us, than dead... but, force us, and we'll take you any way we can get you!"

With a thick swallow, Mirik brought her blaster up and thumped it softly against her brow. _Damn it... I knew I should have stayed on the transport!_ Not seeing any other recourse, she turned back to face the militia...

_**snap-HSSSSSS!**_

That sound was all the warning either she or the armed men got as a cloaked, shadowy shape dropped down from the roof above the alleyway. Landing with a slight puff of dust, the figure suddenly lunged towards the armed men with incredible speed. An arc of bright, amber-white light spun out from underneath the cloak with a humming, stinging sound of energy. In one breath, the four men in front of the new arrival recoiled, their shouts of alarm echoing off the alley walls amid the clatter of smoking blaster parts!

"Watch out!" The officer squawked even as he back pedaled, trying to avoid being crushed by the retreating forms of his own men.

"Strike me! He's got a lightsaber!" One of the militia cried in surprise.

"Of course. What else would a Jedi carry?" This came from the robed stranger; his posture speaking clearly that he'd attack if provoked further.

_Jedi?_ Mirik watched in awe, her weapon forgotten as she watched the attacker twirl the yellow light into an overhand guarded stance, standing his ground between her and the soldiers.

Gullar moved two of his men aside, stepping hesitantly forward to address this newcomer. "Stand aside... you... Jedi, or whatever you are! You're interfering in an official seizure of a posted smuggler!"

"Actually, I'm interfering in the illegal seizure of a private citizen of the New Republic," the stranger countered smoothly. "Those posted bills were only enforceable, while Martial Law stood. Considering that this Sector is supposed to be relieved of Martial Law, your presence here is unneeded and unwarranted."

Several of the militia looked at one another in surprise.

"Under whose authority?" Gullar shot back. "We're supposed to maintain order, as ordered by the Regional Gov'nor!"

The stranger chuckled - a surprisingly rich, deep sound to Mirik's ears - before replying. "Old Governor Tarsk is no longer in charge. The New Republic dissolved his regime and replaced him with a representative of the new Government three days ago." Straightening slightly, the figure didn't lower his guard. "You and your men should have known this... if you report to the planet's capitol officers on a regular basis. Or do you?"

That made Gullar go white as an iceberg, and his men looked equally worried.

"No," the stranger said at length. "I can sense you don't." There was a pause, before the figure made the glowing blade of his weapon vanish with a _hiss-click_. "In that case... you shouldn't delay in reporting to your superiors, now."

At that, Mirik blinked as Gullar suddenly got a blank look on his face. "No... we, shouldn't... delay," he said stiffly.

"You and your men must leave here, now."

Amid the questioning looks from his men, Gullar just nodded. "My... men and I... must leave, now."

The stranger nodded, and said with a note of finality. "Forget the bounty, and do not seek this woman further. Now, go."

Gullar stood a little straighter. "Right, come on! We've got to go." He turned to leave, moving through the shocked, flabbergasted cluster of his militia. When he saw they weren't following him, he snapped around and barked, "Move out! NOW!"

Accustomed to his sharp tone of giving orders, the men reacted on instinct, "Sir!" As one, they shifted into a jumbled column to follow him, quickly trailing out of sight as they moved briskly away.

With the militia gone, the stranger turned towards Mirik's direction, pausing briefly to slip his lightsaber underneath his cloak before addressing her. "You can come out now," he said. "You won't be bothered any further by those simple-minded souls."

Taking a moment to gather herself, Mirik peeked out, then lifted her blaster into the clear to point it at him. "Maybe not them, but how do I know _you're_ not just as bad as _they_ were?" She stepped further out of hiding, grimacing at the stranger warily. "How did you-?"

She was cut off as something unseen suddenly yanked the pistol out of her hands, sending it flying to land in a pile of garbage behind the tall stranger. "Do what I did?" he finished for her. "I think you'd know what a Jedi is, or what we're capable of doing."

With a bleak look, Mirik stared at her hands in disbelief, then back at him. "My father... h-he said they were old folk tales!"

Stepping closer, the stranger dropped his hood, revealing a heavy-set face with blue eyes and red-blond hair. "I am Bossa Ma'tam, and I can assure you, I am no folk tale. I'm as real as you are-."

Before he finished his sentence, Mirik made a sudden, whipping motion from behind her back, bringing something around that looked long and dangerous. Acting on sheer instinct, the long cylinder of his lightsaber flew out of his cloak, activating a spit-second before he caught it and intercepted the blade of the pirate's sword.

Surprisingly, the metal sword cut right through the amber energy blade, making it spark and wink out a heartbeat later!

In shock, Bossa looked at his weapon, then down the long length of Mirik's blade as she kept it pointed at him.

"I'm glad I _did_ listen to my Da's tales," she said with an arched grin, waving the tip of her sword under his nose for emphasis. "It's made of Duranium and Cortorsis. Makes your light-blade just a glorified flashlight!"

"Impressive... for a pirate to have a weapon made of that metal." Bossa shifted backwards for a step. "I am no threat to you."

Mirik held her ground, the blade never wavering as she glared at him. "As long as I have this at your neck, you're damn right you're no threat! Tell me what do you want from me?"

With a sigh, Bossa shook his head slowly. "I simply wished to help you out of a tricky situation," He stated. "If you feel I am a threat, then I'll leave you." With that, he stepped back three more paces before he turned and started to walk away.

Blinking in confusion, Mirik let the sword drop slightly. "You're not out to get the pile of credits on my head as well!"

Looking back at her, Bossa nodded once. "You must not confuse a Jedi Knight with a bounty hunter," he said, giving her a nod before he resumed his exit from the alley.

Utterly unhinged, Mirik let her arms drop until the point of the sword touched the alley floor with a soft clank. "B-but... but-?"

At that, he turned and shot her a knowing look. "Of course, I can't vouch for any _other_ bounty hunters that may be on this world... after all, news about a head with a price on it travels fast, and unless you know how to get back to your ship unmolested, well..." With that, Bossa smiled and slipped around the corner and vanished.

For a span of heartbeats, Mirik let the Jedi's words sink in. Then she suddenly darted forward, pausing to scoop up her fallen pistol from the pile of garbage. "Wait! WAIT! Jedi!" she called out, moving towards the head of the alley. Sliding to a stop at the end, she craned her head around the corner and looked, but the only thing she saw was an empty back street.

"Blast it! He really _was_ trying to help me!" A black look swept over her face. "Damn, self-righteous-!" She looked around quickly, hoping that none of the militia men had come to their senses and headed back to find her. Assuring herself that they weren't around, she started moving out in the direction the Jedi had last been walking in.

# # #

Her steps carried her within sight of the intersection where Creb's shop sat; the street surrounding it now closed off by several peacekeeper and militia vehicles.

"Oh, _Chunda_," she said softly, gazing at the blasted, smoking shell that had been her friends former shop. A cleaner crew was hard at work to put the remaining fire to ashes, while several of the local constabulary were seeing that no one would get in the way.

_Well, it could've been worse_, Mirik told herself. Glancing to the side, she spied the Jedi standing off on one corner of the street, talking to Creb himself. The two were in deep in conversation; obviously about the loss of Creb's former business; her friend standing before the tall, robed man in a rescue service blanket, holding something that looked like a battered money box in his arms.

Taking in the surrounding movements of the constabulary, Mirik slipped around the small knots of onlookers, making her way towards the place where the shopkeeper and the Jedi were standing. Coming closer, she could hear Creb's voice; bitter and accusatory...

# # #

"If you ever see that girl again, you tell her from me that she owes me BIG!" Creb scowled up at the Jedi, then turned to look at his shop with a sorrowful expression. "My Da's shop... oh, Great Stars!"

Bossa only nodded in sympathy. "I'm certain you will be able to restore it in short time, friend. In the mean time, I will relay your, um, sentiments to Miss Besel... when I find her next, that is."

Creb looked back at the Jedi, then just waved one ham fist in dismissal. "I thank you... well... oh STARS!" With that, he trundled towards the peacekeepers and started nattering at them in Huttese.

With a sigh, Bossa watched Creb go, standing there for a moment to watch the shop owner argue with one of the constabulary over something pertaining to their incident report. Glancing at he ruin of the shop for a moment more, he appeared to go rock-still. Not even looking behind himself, he said, "If you're going to sneak up on me, at least try to calm your emotions, Miss Besel."

Behind him, Mirik stiffened in surprise, then she scowled. "Are you trying to get me caught!" She'd slipped into the shadows behind the Jedi, clearly thinking he wouldn't notice her, while trying to keep herself from being seen by the local officials in the street.

Bossa didn't move, or turn to indicate to anyone watching him that he was even speaking to someone behind him. "You seem to be doing a better job of that, than I am." Stepping back as a pair of constables ambled past him, he asked, "Though, I might ask why you are back here so soon?"

"Why did you help me, back there?"

"I told you," Bossa said simply, "you are a Citizen of the New Republic, and it is my duty to protect anyone that needs aid." Without warning, he wrapped his brown robes about himself and turned away from the scene before them, and started to walk away.

"Jedi?" Mirik hissed urgently. "Hoi, Jedi?" Making a small, upset noise in the back of her throat, Mirik cast a baleful glance at the nearby lawmen, before she darted after the Jedi; emerging onto the street, to take two steps to match each of the Jedi's long strides.

"Slow now," Bossa said with a cautionary tone. "Move slowly. It keeps people that wish to notice you from doing so."

Taking his words to heart, Mirik moved so that she walked along on his right side; out of eyesight of the constabulary and militia men. "Do you Jedi always make light of people like me?"

Glancing at her, Bossa asked, "People like you?"

"Yes! Pirates! Smugglers... you know?" Realizing her voice was raising, she looked about self-consciously at the pedestrians walking by. "I'm a bloody criminal!" she hissed.

Bossa stepped onto an adjoining sidewalk, never increasing his pace nor turning to face her as he started towards the open center of a wide marketplace. "You are too concerned with what you are." He paused to let a large speeder rumble past them, before they started walking again. "Criminal or not, as far as I was concerned - and still am - you were in danger, and I only wished to help."

As they made their way across the marketplace, Mirik shifted so she could place herself in front of him, walking backwards as she faced his fair-skinned continence. "So, what's the deal now, Jedi? Are you going to make me your prisoner or-?"

The tall man cut her off gently. "Is it your wish to be placed under arrest?" Bossa came to a sudden stop and looked at her squarely.

In the face of such a direct question, Mirik stumbled to a stop, and found herself looking back at him with a puzzled expression. "So... you're not at all interested in the bounty on my head? I mean, Jedi or not, you're still human, aren't you?"

At that, Bossa agreed. "I am, though what does that matter?"

Mirik said, "I thought every human wanted to make money! You can't live without it these days!"

"Well, true. One must be able to use money for some of life's necessities." Bossa cocked his head as he regarded the small woman for a moment. He then leaned towards her, and shot her a telling look. "Truthfully, I'm not that desperate for funds. Yet."

The way he said that last word made Mirik's eyes go wide and her eyebrows shoot upwards like two frightened birds.

To that, Bossa merely winked. "You also find I have a terribly evil sense of humor." He smiled. "I realize your point, Miss Besel but, you are perfectly safe from me."

That made her relax a bit, but she was still wary. "Then, why are you here on this mud ball, if you don't mind-?"

"My business on Eriadu is completed, and it involved locating something much more rare than _daktari_ or monies of any other name," Bossa said. "I was on my way to my ship when-."

"Wait! Your Ship!" Mirik all but rounded on him. "You have a ship, here?"

"A small freighter, but it serves me well enough." He nodded. Stepping back from her, he asked pointedly, "Is it your wish to leave Eriadu?"

Mirik gave him a dark look, before she glanced around at the city about them. "After what happened just now, do you think I want to stay around here?"

"Then, if you permit me, I can offer you passage from Eriadu," the Jedi explained, continuing to lead her further along the way across the marketplace; stepping clear of the assorted stalls, merchants and gathering crowds of locals. "If you wish, you're more than welcome to travel with me, as I return to the Academy on Yavin... afterwards, you may go wherever you see fit to head to."

Mirik fell silent, thinking as she followed him. "You would still help me?"

The Jedi looked at her and gave her a smile. "Yes." He came to a stop at a corner of a new street, turning to face her fully once again.

"But, isn't there, well... something, you want in return?"

"You believe I want something as payment for your traveling in my ship?"

Mirik felt her cheeks go hot for a moment. "Well, yes!"

Bossa just chuckled. "Apparently, you still don't believe in all the tales you were told about the Jedi Order, do you?"

Now her cheeks grew hot with anger. "What's that supposed to mean?" Planting her fists on her hips, she glared at Bossa.

"If you truly believed in them, do you think that a Jedi Knight would ask for that... when it goes against our very code?"

Her jaw dropped slightly, as the implications sunk home in her mind. Ducking her head, Mirik replied, "No... I guess you wouldn't."

"Then there is no need to apologize." Bossa waited for a moment, then asked, "Do you still wish to accept my aid?"

With a sigh, Mirik gave him a slightly skeptical look, which quickly melted when she realized she had little choice just then. "Yes," she said.

Bowing his head once, Bossa asked, "What is your full name, Miss?"

"My name's Mirik. Mirik Amandis Besel."

"I am Bossa Mat'am, Jedi Knight and at your service," he replied. Nodding towards the direction of the end of the street, he added, "Come with me, then. We can leave this area faster, using one of the non-registered ground transports."

"Fine by me." Mirik fell in step beside him, shaking her head as she muttered. "Blast it... what have I got myself into now?"

# ### #


	2. Chapter 2

**STAR WARS - THE DARKEST SHADOW**  
><strong>written by Stephen R. Sobotka  2000-2012**

_**DISCLAIMER** : This story is an original prose based on situations, settings, places and themes from the Universe of "**Star Wars**", by LucasArts Entertainment Ltd. All characters that appear within - with the exception of all original characters created by the author - are the property of said licenses, and are used here without knowledge or permission of same._

_This story is the rightful property of the author; all original characters and the plot depicted within are protected by copyright law. This story was produced to entertain fans of the original game, and is in no way, shape or form intended to be published for monetary gain. Please do not sue._

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE** : I wrote this as a gift for a dear friend of mine, who told me once if she was ever to be a character in a Star Wars story, she'd be a smuggler._

_This one's for you, Shinga. Enjoy! - **SRS**_

.  
>.<p>

Chapter Two

# # #

After leaving Seeshamar behind them in a droid-driven taxi, Bossa and Mirik traveled several back-streets on a path that lead them the length of Eriadu's Captial City.

Mirik kept low in the wide compartment of the taxi; only daring to look out from time to time as they passed through much of the industrial district of the city, to retreat back under cover when she spied more constabulary or militia walking by.

From his seat next to her, Bossa sat with a calm air. At one point, when she scrunched down further to hide, he said, "You have no reason to fear, Miss Besel. They are still looking for you back in Seeshamar."

Shooting the Jedi an look, Mirik kept her head down nonetheless. "That won't last long. When they can't find me there-!"

"We will be on board my ship, and long gone from this place."

The taxi bumped over a long, stone bridge, transferring from the end of the industrial district into one of the large areas designated for one of the city's auxillary spaceports. Here, they drove past several hangars and spacecraft berths; all of which were a-bustle with every sort of activity detailing to the launch and landing of ships.

Eventually, the taxi floated to a stop in front of a wide, partially-domed, stucco-walled building. The droid driver made a low, chirping sound, indicating that his passengers should disembark and pay for their fare.

Stepping out of the taxi, Bossa turned and palmed a few credit chips into the currency slot box mounted behind the droid. "Thank you for your service, friend." he said, before turning to help Mirik climb out.

"_okeey-dokeey_!" the droid warbled. It waited until they were clear, then in a burp of dust, it powered the vehicle away, turning around to head back into the city-proper.

Scowling while brushing the coating of dust from her front, Mirik muttered, "Droids!"

Bossa just chuckled. "You have a sour disposition towards a lot of world around you."

"I don't... well, trust a lot of things," Mirik said. "It's how I've been able to keep out of trouble." She saw his pointed look, and added meekly, "Well, most of the time."

"Indeed. Come, my ship is over there," he said, as he pointed towards the low stone archway; one of several that branched off from the central 'hub of the small building. "This way, Miss Besel," he said as he led the way.

Following along beside the tall Jedi Knight, Mirik gave the surrounding area a hunting glance. The location looked relatively free of the local militia or constabulary, and still she walked with one hand on her blaster, still expecting someone to leap out and stop them at any moment.

"Not to worry," Bossa said, as if he knew what she was thinking. "These spaceports are privately-run, and are only subject to the constables searching them in the most dire of situations."

Frowning, Mirik regarded the Jedi with her teal eyes. "I'll still feel better when we're out of this place." Turning, she started walking backwards alongside the Jedi, sweeping the 'hub with her keen eyes wide as both of them entered under the archway.

"That's understandable," Bossa replied with a good natured chuckle. "It's not everyday that this place is visited by a wanted smuggler." He shot her a wink when she turned sharply at that remark. "I'm sorry. Again, that was in poor humor on my part."

Rolling her eyes, Mirik muttered, "Are all Jedi blessed with your sense of humor, or am I just lucky that I ran into you?"

Bossa just gave her an enigmatic look.

Together, they entered the landing bay, where Mirik got her first look at the Jedi's starship; a wide, flat-looking ship with a side protuberance that held the cockpit, and a pair of nub-naceles that held the twin 'drives that powered the compact craft through space. Strips of red marked the surface skin, along with a single row of identification glyphs that ran down the side.

Her mouth agape, Mirik could only think of one thing to say at the sight of it: "What, a, piece, of junk!"

Bossa merely shrugged. "She's not designed for looks, like a Nubian cruiser. She'll make lightspeed easily, and she's tougher and just as maneuverable than most starfighters."

Planting her hands on her hips, Mirik frowned at him before her gaze slid over the surface of the ship once more, pausing as she came to the I-D glyphs. "**'**_**Brighthope**_**'**? What kind of name is that for a ship?"

At that, Bossa looked at her with a touch of darkness on his face. "That... was the name of a ship, owned by my mother," he stated, his voice broaching no apology as he stared down at her.

With a weak defensive laugh, Mirik replied, "Ahh, I see... it's a good name, then. It... suits her."

With a sigh, Bossa shook his head. "We can talk about ship's names later," he said. "For now, let's get aboard-." He stopped in mid-step. "Wait."

Mirik looked at him oddly. "Wait... for what?"

"Get down!" Bossa whipped his robes aside, as his lightsaber sprang into the air from his belt with a blaze of yellow-gold.

"Stop them! Open FIRE!"

Mirik dove for the ground, looking up just as a score of stun bolts crashed down onto the floor of the landing bay around them. On one of the catwalks that hung from the bay's ceiling, the figures of several armored militia men could be seen in the backflash of their blasters.

As Bossa smashed aside several close shots, he made a shoving motion with his free hand as he moved himself in between the soldiers and herself. Several of the militia men stumbled backwards, tumbling off of the catwalk with cries of alarm.

"Blast it!" Mirik grunted as she rolled to avoid more shots from another group that had appeared on another catwalk behind them. Whipping her tail of honey-red braids out of her face, she rolled into a crouch that put her partially behind a large metal crate. Drawing her double-barreled blaster, she tried to aim at the militia but Bossa spun into view; his body blocking her. "Move, Jedi! I can't get a clear shot at them!"

"No, I can't expose you to getting hit!" Bossa shouted over the whine and explosions of weapons fire, his eyes focused on the network of catwalks and gangways overhead. They were beginning to boil over with more militia troopers; bracing behind what cover they could find as they fired continuously at the two fugitives.

"Well, you can't cut them down with that energized flyswatter from here!" Mirik shouted, wincing when one shot came too close to her.

"I won't need to!" With a nudge of the Force, he drew a second lightsaber and added its blade to that of the first one. As Mirik watched, he deflected several of the shots directly back at the militia to force them to duck back deeper into cover.

Mirik breathed. "That's a nifty trick."

"It will only suffice for a short time. We can't stand up to a prolonged fight, anyway," Bossa shot back, twirling his sabers in a wide arc. "Get to the ship, now!"

Another blast bolt whipped past Mirik's face. "Just hope you can get that bucket of yours airborne!" Mirik back-crawled under the lee of the overhanging edge of his ship, before turning and sprinting for the open hatchway. Blaster fire rained down around her, but none of the shots hit her as she scuttled inside.

"Stop them! Don't let them get aboard!" came the call from above, and the militia started pouring their fire on the lone Jedi below.

In response, Bossa locked his lightsaber on and spun it around with one hand to create a makeshift shield, as he started backing towards the ship's hatch. Before the troopers realized his intent, he used a portion of the Force to propel himself backwards into the hatch, where he landed in relative safety on the floor inside.

A cry from a militia officer followed him inside,"They're going to blast off! Disable that ship!"

Bossa closed down his lightsabers before he reached up and slapped the hatch seal. "Miss Besel! Where are-?" Before he could finish his query, he heard the distinctive whine of the _**Brighthope's**_ ion-engines spooling up to full power. "Wonderful!" Pushing himself off the walls of the access way, he staggered towards the cockpit. Reaching the small chamber, he spied the pirate woman leaning halfway across the pilot's seat; frantically jabbing at buttons and pulling levers.

Mildly surprised, Bossa asked, "Are you schooled in piloting this kind of ship?"

"Not really, but," she growled, shoving herself upright to glance at him. "Any nerf-herder with a brain should know how to power up a leviathan like this-!" She paused when she caught a flicker of movement through the view port ahead, then added with a note of trepidation, "However.. ah, you could help me here, before those troops knock this bucket out of commission!"

Bossa took one look; seeing teams of militia troopers moving to set up a pair of heavy blast-cannon in front of the ship. "Move. Strap yourself in there." He nodded to the small jump seat behind the two pilot seats, as he slid in behind the control console with a grunt.

Taking the indicated seat, Mirik pointed towards the troopers. "What are you going to-?"

Bossa found a set of controls near his left hand, and manipulated them with short, quick stabs of his fingers.

From somewhere underneath the ship, the whirr of servomotors could be heard, followed by the crackle of a stun-cannon array firing bolts of electric-blue. Outside, several of the troopers fell to the ground, senseless.

With a nod, Bossa continued to flip switches and pull levers. In seconds, the whine of the engines rose into a rolling growl which rumbled through the ship's space-frame.

"You _are_ going to take off? Soon?" Mirik asked as she finished strapping herself tightly into the small jump seat.

Watching the readouts, he snapped three levers forward, before he took hold of the control yoke and pulled it back, making the ship tilt towards its rump briefly. "Now!" He jammed another lever forward, and with a growl, the _**Brighthope**_ surged upwards; her backwash knocking the grounded militia troopers down as she rocketed into the open sky above.

# # #

Watching from the shielded point on the gangway, the militia officer in charge of the spaceport unit grimaced as he followed the starship's progress into space.

"Sir!" a trooper reported, having spoken with a traffic controller over his comlink. "We're tracking them. If they clear the orbital boundary, they'll jump to hyperspace for certain!"

The officer turned and glowered at another trooper. "Contact our Picket Command! Dispatch interceptors, at once!"

# # #

The sound of the _**Brighthope's**_ engines rumbled through the starship's massive frame; as the ship clawed its way out of Eraidu's atmosphere.

As the vibrations rumbled against the back of the small jump seat, Mirik grimaced. She didn't normally mind space travel - since most of the time she was the one flying the ship - but she hated being in a passenger's seat, because she had no control sitting there inside the starship, rather than guiding it through the galaxy. Taking a deep breath, she looked out through the front of the cockpit and asked, "Did you have to cut it that closely?"

Keeping his eyes on the ship's readouts, Bossa replied, "Those soldiers simply didn't wish to cooperate on that matter." Looking through the view screen ahead, he added, "Still, we did make it, hm?"

"Barely!" Mirik scowled. Leaning back in the jump seat, she reached up and rubbed her hands against her cheeks. "I just hope you can pilot this thing as good as you fight, Jedi."

Bossa said, "When we're clear of Eriadu's orbit, we'll make the transition to light-speed as soon the NAVA-Computer has the coordinates programmed."

"How long with that take?"

Before Bossa could reply to that, a high-pitched razz blared out from one of the control panels beside him.

Mirik snapped her head towards the panel with a frown.

"Proximity sensors." Bossa reached out and tapped a key, scanning the readout tied into the now-silent alarm. He then reached over towards a bank of six switches; snapping each one on with a flick of his fingers. "Interceptors, closing up fast. I'll try to evade them!"

Mirik reached down and tugged the seat restraints tighter around her slim frame. "I'm guessing you can't use some new Jedi hocus-pocus to get this bucket to jump into hyperspace now?"

Bossa shoved the three drive levers forward, as the ship's engines deepened in pitch. "We need time for the computer to complete jump calculations!" He snapped another control over, grimacing as he watched the approaching ships on the monitor. There was a bright flash outside the view screen; a burst of white light that rocked the ship as it passed close by.

"_Chuunda_!"

"Ranging shots! Deflector screens at full power... hold tight!" Jerking the control yoke, he put the ship into a sharp, banking turn; sending it howling into the black, star-dotted field beyond them.

Outside the _**Brighthope**_, four small snub fighters spread out into a herding formation as they closed in; bracketing the fleeing starship as they extended their maneuvering wings for greater control. Coming closer, the lead ship's pilot snapped off three more warning shots across her bow; making a trio of explosions burst against its wake.

Inside, Mirik felt each of the bursts as they buffeted the the deflectors shielding _**Brighthope's**_ frame. "Ouch!"

Just then, a voice came over the small comm-set on the master control panel; _"__**Brighthope**__, this is Enforcer Unit Ki. Power down your hyperspeed-engines, and return to the planet at once!"_

Bossa grimaced as he glanced at another readout screen. "They're flying Incom starfighters... old models. Apparently, this outpost had to fall back on surplus ships," Bossa said coolly. Jamming the controls down sharply, he twisted the ship as they rocketed away from the pursuing fighters.

Mirik blinked. "I guess I should be thankful they're not using TIE-Fighters!" Another volley of blaster fire rippled across the cockpit viewpoint, making her flinch.

The ship raced along, breaking clear of the atmosphere amid more bursts of blaster fire as the four Interceptors closed in. As fast as the _**Brighthope**_, though they were all pushing the upper limits of their performance limits, the fighters fired round after round of crimson energy at the fleeing ship. Bossa juked and twisted his ship, relying on his skills and the ship's stronger defensive systems to hold the fighters off. They needed time to make it out of this trap... but the Interceptors were making short work of every second that passed.

Catching more bursts of destructive energy along the one side, he growled, "Surplus fighters... but still effective!"

"Too effective!" Mirik hissed, as she rocked from side to side in her chair. "Can't you turn around and fight them off?"

Another rolling burst pitched the ship sideways, making Bossa struggle with the controls to bring the ship under control. "I'd rather not go through a head-on confrontation. This ship was built for peaceful transit, not a head-on assault," Bossa explained.

Mirik stared at him in shock. "Does that mean you _can't_ even fight back?"

Working the controls to twist them through more blaster and laser fire, Bossa replied, "This ship does have some weapons, including an aft laser turret."

Mirik gave Bossa a sour look. "Let me guess... you can't fire it and pilot the ship at the same time?" Unstrapping herself from her jump seat, she shook her head.

Hearing the clatter of the metal parts of a seat harness being flung aside, Bossa shot a quick look over his shoulder. "What are you-?"

"What does it look like! Someone has to save our skins. I'll man the turret," she said, struggling to her feet as she staggered towards the cockpit's exit. "Just point me in the right direction!"

Bossa said sharply over his shoulder, "Beyond the common room, the end of the access way! First hatch aft! It has it's own gravity well, so watch yourself!" With that said, he returned his attention to evading the militia fighters.

"I'll keep that in mind!" Mirik said crossly as she made her way down the access way; bracing her arms against the walls as the ship rocked from several near-misses. "Damn it... maybe I _should _have let the militia catch me back there!"

She emerged into an oval shaped compartment - the common area - but paid little heed to it, as she was flung sharply across the length of the room by a seriously violent jolt. Landing on her belly against the hull-metal floor, her breath leaving her body in an explosive huff, she snarled and recovered her balance quickly, scrambling towards a round, locked hatch on the far side; flanked by two yellow-colored hand grips and an access switch. Slapping the switch, she paused just long enough for the hatch to open - four spiral segments opening like an iris - before grasping the hand grips to lift her legs up to swing them into the opening.

Beyond it, the tingle of a gravity field wrapped around her limbs, holding her in mid-air as she plunged into the shaft beyond, which opened out into the turret proper; a small, spheroid apparatus that was filled with twin compact control panels, mounted on a single gunner's seat.

Slipping lithely into the seat, Mirik sought out and found a utility headset on the chair's tiny, padded headrest. Clipping it over her ear, she tapped the side control switches on the one panel to power up the turret's systems. "Okay, I'm in!" Mirik groused, hastily strapping herself in. Before her, the gunner's targeting view screen winked on; covering her face with a greenish glow. Reaching out, she took the control levers in her hands, manipulating them to get a quick feel of the turret's speed and responsiveness.

Bossa's voice came through the headset: "Powering weapons... you should have full function in-"

"I have it already!"

"Just in time. They're closing fast!"

As if to punctuate Bossa's warning, several green flashes of light shot by the turret's tiny view port. A rumble of explosions rattled the frame of the ship, filtering down into the turret with a plethora of harsh vibrations.

"_Chunda_!" Mirik shook her head, before glaring squarely into the targeting screen. Watching as one of the quartette of blips slipped in between her sighting brackets, Mirik jammed both of her thumbs over the firing buttons on her controls. Outside, streams of crimson energy erupted from the triple-blaster mount on the aft side of the ship. Knifing through the formation of starfighters, three of the blasts clipped the left-most ship along its portside engine.

There was a crackle of raw energy escaping the crippled ship, just seconds before the entire fighter blew apart in a blue-white fireball.

From the cockpit, Bossa watched the fighter's demise and said, "Good shooting!"

Mirik smirked, then frowned. "Save the celebrations! There's three more fighters out there!"

"Actually..." There was a pause, before a sudden maelstrom of shock waves and star bursts rocked the _**Brighthope**_. "Actually, there's three more that have joined the chase now," Bossa added, when the bursts tapered off.

Mirik rolled her eyes, before firing the blaster cannons again. "Please tell me there's going to be some good news _soon?_"

Bossa replied, "Actually, there is!"

"What?"

"We can lose these interceptors, if I can fly us into an abandoned ship foundry, directly ahead of us!"

"We don't have time to run millraces, Jedi! We need to jump!" Mirik snapped, making the turret swing left and right, cannon blazing at the pursuing foes.

"We still don't have the coordinates from the NAVA-computer!" Bossa shot back. "Putting the hulk between us and those fighters should give us enough time!"

Mirik ground her teeth together in frustration, only to have her temper cool when several blaster bolts raked across her viewpoint; the deflector screens just barely keeping the hits from getting through. "Fine, just do it! Quick! These munge-eating bastard's are swarming all over us!"

The _**Brighthope**_ raced towards the space-borne derelict Bossa had indicated. Drifting in a high orbit above the planet, it had once been used to build the massive war machines of the Imperial Empire, only it floated along as a dark, lifeless hulk. Several portions of the formerly-utilitarian platform were now open to the vacume of space; gaping, ugly holes that lead into the dead interior.

"This will get a little rough!" Bossa called out, tightening his grip on the controls, as he pointed the nose of the ship towards one of these holes.

Darting inside, the starship slipped around several massive, aging metal pylons, before rising upwards into a massive compartment - one of the derrick's hollow holding bays. Screaming in behind, the six interceptors tried to blast the _**Brighthope**_, but their shots skewed wide when the pilots had to juke around the pylons to avoid crashing into them.

All the while, Mirik kept firing. One fighter, having spun around into a corkscrew-motion to keep up with the fleeing ship, ended up pierced through by a hail of red blaster fire. Its fellows kept up the chase; engines howling, blaster cannons barking as they nipped away at the starships shields.

The _**Brighthope**_ popped out into a narrow passage above the holding bay - a long, flattened affair that seemed to extend forever into the distance - and raced through it, swerving between jutting metal beams and protruding hull plates. One such obstacle clipped her port-side, sending her wobbling forwards until Bossa could recover control. Being smaller, the interceptors had less of a problem maneuvering in such tight spaces, and they began to gain ground on the fleeing ship.

Mirik maintained her rate of fire; her knuckles nearly white from the strain of holding the fire triggers down, as she swept the blasters from side to side. "These militia... pretty damn good pilots!" she grunted, as the cannons fired at the fighters coming up close.

A moment later, one of their attackers boiled up in a red-orange explosion.

"Well, some of them, anyway," Mirik muttered.

In the cockpit, Bossa shook his head as he watched the fighters in his scanner display. Reaching up, he slapped three controls in succession, watching as a readout near them winked over from red to green. "We need to get on top of things!" With that, he jerked a trigger on the control yoke.

From four, recessed ports in the nose of the ship, a quartet of concussion missiles burst forth on bright, blue-white plumes of flame. Rushing forwards, they sought out a point on the roof of the passage and slammed home in a cacophony of thunder and flame.

From behind, Mirik felt her bones rattle painfully amid the maelstrom of the detonation's shock-waves. "What the Deuce-?"

Bossa ignored her outburst, nudging the controls upwards with iron control to guide the ship through the massive hole the missiles made. Shooting through, the _**Brighthope**_ was now on the very top surface of the platform, back into exposed space. "Nothing fancy!" He hauled back on the controls, sending the starship arcing overhead in a high-powered loop. Swooping back towards the surface - and the hole - he cut power to slow them down... just in time to see the remaining interceptors emerge from the exit he just made. Not giving the militia pilots time to react, he jammed the firing control down once more and sent four more missiles vomiting out of their launchers.

None of the pilots targeted by the projectiles had any chance to avoid them. In seconds, a rippling, rolling ball made of a chain of exploding craft filled the space above the blasted hole; leaving only a quick-dissipating cloud of gases and debris for the _**Brighthope**_ to fly through.

Blinking, Mirik looked at her targeting screen. "What happened? What-?"

"The fighters are gone," Bossa replied, his voice laced with a touch of relief as he sighed. "This chase was becoming most disagreable, so I took care of them."

Mirik slumped back down into her gunner's chair in disbelief. "But, how-?"

"Even in these days of promising peace, there is wisdom in having some deterrents for any aggressors." Just then, Bossa paused before prompting. "Come back to the cockpit, Ms. Besel. The jump coordinates are locked in."

Surprise filling her features, Mirik none the less hurriedly unstrapped herself as she replied, "I'm on my way, but don't wait on my account!"

A chuckle filled her headset, followed by Bossa's voice, just as she removed it from her ear; "As you wish."

Moving clear of the dead space-borne platform, the _**Brighthope**_ seemed to gather herself and, on a sudden, brightening glow from her engines, she snapped forward as if swatted on her aft-side. In the blink of an eye, the ship was nothing more than a single line of matter against the vast curtain of space... and then, she was gone.

# # #

Taking one last look at the automated systems, Bossa let out a deep sigh before relaxing back against his seat. _That... was almost too close!_ he told himself. The ship's deflectors were just seconds away from failure before his last-ditch effort removed the threat of the Interceptors. Had he waited just seconds longer... Well, hindsight is always seen with perfect vision.

Quickly collecting himself, he half turned when he heard the sound of Mirik's boots clumping along the passage way behind him. Looking over the back of the seat, he watched her slow to a stop just inside the entrance; pushing back some stray locks of honey-red hair from her face as she leaned against the hatchway frame.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Flexing her hands, which felt slightly numb after clutching on the gunner's controls so hard, she replied, "For now, I am."

Nodding, Bossa replied, "Good. We're fortunate those defense fighters don't carry long range hyper-drives. If they did, we probably would have faced another fight, before reaching Yavin."

"Are you Jedi always so bi-polar?" Mirik scowled. "One minute you're as optimistic as an old nanny-droid, and then-!" Getting a grip on herself, she closed her eyes and let out her exasperation in a slow breath, before stating, "I shouldn't be lashing out at you."

"Hm, anger isn't one of the most healthy of human emotions," Bossa said sagely. "But, I do not take any offense. You are well right to be upset with what you've been through."

"Still, it's not something I should be tossing onto your back," Mirik admitted. She looked up at him and nodded slightly. "Thank you, for all your help," she offered.

Bossa said simply, "It is my duty to serve."

Rubbing her arms as she slipped over to sit in the jump seat once more, Mirik just nodded. "So... now, we wait until we reach Yavin, right? Why do you have to go there?"

Bossa leaned against his seat and said, "There are friends there. I promised to return, after I had recovered something... something that I've been searching for." He glanced down at the pocket of his robes, then stated, "The journey will not be a lengthy one. Once we arrive, I will speak to Master Skywalker, to arrange to have you returned to your people."

"'Master'?" Mirik cocked her head, curious now. "You mean to say, you have someone that you serve? I thought all the old Jedi were extinct."

With a soft smile, Bossa said, "All Jedi serve someone... even me, though the 'Master' I refer to is more of an equal than my superior. As well, you are right in that all the Old Order are gone." His face took on a sad expression at that admission. "All of the old Jedi are gone."

Seeing his pain, she said, "I... I'm sorry."

"It is not-." Bossa's reply was interrupted by a heavy tremble that vibrated the deck underneath them. Eyes widening, he turned back towards the controls. Another deep rumble shivered along the length of the ship's frame.

"That didn't feel good," Mirik muttered.

Slipping straighter into his seat, Bossa started flicking his eyes over the various readouts, just as a third, more violent shudder rippled into existence; making several alarms activate around the cockpit.

"That certainly doesn't sound good!" Mirik said sharply, her cheeks turning pale as another vibration - the strongest one yet! - raced along the deck plates beneath her feet, making her fall back into her seat. It was a sound she remembered her father describing to her, years ago when he himself nearly escaped being killed once by-!

"Resonance flutter!" she cried out. "Shut it down! Shut the hyper-drive down, or the ship will shake itself apart if-!"

Before she finished, Bossa was quickly shutting down the hyper-drive and pulling back on the ship's controls. As the stars returned to their normal state outside the view screen, the _**Brighthope's**_ engines dwindled down to a muted rumble, bringing the speeding ship down from its star-streaking course across the cosmos.

Letting out a deep sigh, Mirik said, "That, was too close for any comfort!"

"Agreed," Bossa replied, slumping back into his seat before he looked at her. "Are you all right?"

"Shaken... but nothing a few night's rest won't fix," she replied.

Nodding, Bossa gripped the sides of his chair and pushed himself up to his feet. "Resonance flutter isn't something to be taken lightly," he said under his breath.

Mirik watched as he slipped past her to walk out of the cockpit. She rose and followed him out into the access way. "I don't suppose... you'll need any help?"

"A Jedi always knows when to ask for assistance," Bossa replied, looking back at her with a nod and a smile. "Together, we might be able to find the problem, and fix it. Otherwise..."

Nodding as she realized his line of thought, Mirik said, "We'll be looking at being stranded out here... wherever that is."

# # #

However, finding the source of the hyper-drive's problem was only the start of their troubles.

"It's worse, isn't it?"

Looking down into the wide pit in the floor of the _**Brighthope's**_ engine room, Mirik sat on the edge and watched as Bossa tinkered with one of the engine's exposed engine components.

The Jedi didn't respond at first; his grunts echoing up from the pit as he shifted around.

Puffing out her cheeks, Mirik asked softly, "I'll take that as 'Yes'?"

"You... may presume to believe that," Bossa replied at length. He pulled something to him, rising up slowly as he backed towards the edge of the pit. "It couldn't be more worse," he added, turning to place a large, dome-shaped piece of machinery on the floor beside them. "The casing and some of the internal systems of this hyper-drive motivator are extensively damaged."

The young smuggler whistled low as her eyes swept over the device; her eyes picking out the visible cracks in the round surface of the motivator's top part. "That would explain why we were experiencing resonance flutter," she murmured. "Can you fix it?"

"This, and several other parts will need to be replaced," Bossa said, grunting as he pulled himself up out of the pit to sit next to her. "If not, we're in for a lengthy stretch of travel, until we reach an inhabited system."

Nodding, Mirik asked, "So, where do you keep the spare parts on this tin-can?" When the Jedi didn't respond right away, she added, "You... do have spares on your ship, right?"

"I would, usually," he stated with a sigh. "However this type of ship is hard to find spares for." He lifted himself to his feet and stood up. "Parts like that would be almost-vintage, and in these turbulent times..."

Mirik groaned and shifted herself onto her knees. "Parts like that are hard to come by!" Shaking her head, she asked, "So, what do you propose we do?"

"We'll need to find a nearby system," Bossa stated, "and, hopefully they'll have a starport where we can find the necessary parts, or at least the facilities to make enough repairs to allow us to get underway again." He moved towards the hatch that led out of the engine space, motioning for her to follow. "Come," he said as he stepped through, "we can use the computer in the common room."

"Why not? There's little I can do here," Mirik admitted, clambering through the hatch after him.

"You may be able to help plot a course out of our current predicament, Miss Besel," Bossa stated. "With your knowledge of trading routes-." He paused when he heard her stop in the passage way behind; turning to see the vexed expression on her face. "Is something wrong?"

"Do you Jedi always have to be so formal?" she asked sourly.

"I was only being polite," Bossa said.

Mirik sighed. "It's not that I don't appreciate the courtesy... but," she said, looking at him pointedly. "I don't think being polite is going to get us back to civilized space any quicker, okay?"

Bossa nodded. "Very well. Shall we see what we can do about getting out of this... situation, then?" He stepped aside and indicated she should precede him.

With a soft snort, she said, "Fine." Moving forward, she slipped by the tall Jedi and stepped out into the common room beyond the hatch.

# # #

Once they were both inside the oval-shaped compartment, Bossa wasted little time starting up the remote computer terminal; a boxy, triple-screened setup, mounted in the bulkhead near what had to be a compact-yet-cozy looking sleeping area.

Seated on a small chair, the burly Jedi's fingers flew over the keyboard. Bringing up the navigation system maps from the main computer, he paused and pointed to one of the screens. "This is our relative position... here. Somewhere just beyond the reaches of our friends on Eriadu."

Standing to the side, Mirik peered at the display for a moment. "Far enough to suit me just fine, but where are we exactly?"

Bossa tapped a series of keys. "Somewhere near this side of the Vivinda Sector," he replied.

Mirik frowned. "That's close to Dorvalla... but, we might have a better chance getting to Bespin," she said slowly. Reaching out to trace her finger along the image on the screen, she added, "That's right near the Ison Trade Corridor."

"A good chance we could find some help there," Bossa agreed.

Mirik suddenly brightened. "Wait!" she said, moving her fingertip over another part of the star map. "Here! We should go here instead!"

Looking at where she pointed, Bossa asked, "Karabet?"

"Yes," Mirik replied. "I know that system, and it's perfect to help us with what we need!"

Bossa peered closer. "That's a system I never heard of."

"With good reason," Mirik replied. "Karabet isn't supposed to be on any Imperial star charts, because it's home for one of my family's personal caches." She looked at Bossa's face, seeing his surprised expression. "It was part of my father's planning. We set up several, uncharted planets with hidden caches of stores; food stuffs, parts, fuel... whatever we'd need, in case we found ourselves driven off the regular trade routes by Imperials, other competitors, bandits..."

Arching one eyebrow, Bossa said, "Your father sounds like a resourceful man."

Mirik's face fell slightly. "He was." She shook her head and stated, "Karabet was one of the ones he set up out here in the Outer Rim. Can this ship make there, you think?"

Bossa leaned back in thought for several moments. "Under sub-light speed, it will take a few days time... but, we should be able to reach this Karabet before our fuel runs out."

"Oh, don't worry about refueling," she said, "there's enough fuel stored there to power a Star Destroyer. Though... we may have to pump it by hand."

He looked at her pointedly, "Labor is good for the body, but... I'm just wondering if your father's cache will still be intact, after all this time."

Mirik smiled. "It should," she said. "It will be there, trust me."

Nodding, Bossa reached out and tapped a sequence of commands into the keyboard. "Very well then, Mirik," he said. "I just need to upload the coordinates to the NAVA-Computer, and we'll get underway at once."

Mirik nodded, then she asked, "Now I'm wondering. How is it your computer has Karabet in its database?"

Pausing, Bossa gave her a slightly-smug look. "When I was last in the Core Systems, I purchased a smuggler's map set from... well, a rather reclusive trader."

Mirik blinked, then gave him an arched look. "A Jedi, using information from a disreputable source?"

Rising, Bossa stated, "Knowledge is power, Mirik. Much like the Force, it comes from many sources." He reached down and finished sending the information to the cockpit computer, before adding with a nod. "Now, let us get underway. We've got a long trip ahead of us."

# ### #


End file.
